Fighter
by Eyes for Eternity
Summary: He was a fighter, and she was something worth fighting for.


He hadn't loved her from the day he met her; he loved her from the day he knew her.

The day he met her, she was a slight twelve year old with sullen Seam looks and the guarded senses of a hunter. He was an awkward fourteen year old with the same dark looks of poverty and a raw intimidation to his being. They had both lost their fathers. They were both grasping at straws to keep their families fed. They both had something to gain from working together. Neither one of them trusted the other. They were acquaintances and, at most, hunting partners, nothing more. Not friends. Not classmates, even. Heaven forbid they become lovers.

The day he knew her, she was so much more. She was a mature teenager, growing into the look of the Seam and making the dark, shadowed features resemble nothing less than an angel. Gale was now allowed into her head, and their instincts flowed seamlessly through each other when they were hunting. He learned that her favorite color was green. She was born in May. She had one friend, Madge Undersee, and they knew each other only because they were both loners at school, usually left to partner in class and eat lunch together. She hated her sister's cat. She lived with her mother, who was distant and miserable, and her sister, who was the joy of her life and of the lives of everyone who'd ever met her. She never planned to marry, to have a family, because she couldn't bear the idea of losing her husband to the mines like she had her father, any children she might have to the Hunger Games. She had become Catnip.

He was older and angrier, with a rage in his soul towards the Peacekeepers, the Capitol, towards the very world they were forced to live in. He, too, had grown into the dark looks of the lesser of District 12, his shoulders broader and his muscles filled out by exertion in the woods. The intimidation that had always been there still remained, though now Katniss was allowed beneath his usual stoic cover and into Gale, a strong, brave boy who cared deeply for people, though he'd never let them know it. He was born in January. His favorite color was blue; it was the color of the sky, of the water when it was clean and clear, of the ring his father had somehow acquired when he and his mother were married. He didn't like the colors black or gray; they reminded him of the coal mines, the dreary cobblestone streets of their District, of the sky when it was about to rain or snow, which would drive away game. He didn't like red, either, or orange, because those were the colors of fire. Fire in the Seam meant destruction, uncontrollability. Brown and green were the colors of the forest, which, while it was his escape and his haven, was something that he had to do; it showed how much dependency his family, and most of the families in the Seam, had on getting food, which should've been supplied to those who had none in the first place. He hadn't thought far enough into the future to think about a wife or family; he only had the time to focus on getting food on the table, or there wouldn't be a future for him to marry or have children in. When she asked him, he said that he couldn't see himself as a father. She didn't ask him to elaborate.

Peeta loved her from the day he met her; the day he knew her made no difference.

The day _he_ met her, or, more accurately, _saw_ her, she was six. Her face was round with baby fat that she had yet to grow out of, but there was still a look of hunger in her skin. Her dark hair was braided in pigtails onto her shoulders and tied with cheap ribbons, and she had on a red plaid dress he'd never forget. He was a naïve boy with blue eyes, pale skin, and blond hair that clearly marked him as a merchant's child, one of the few people in the District who always had food on the table. They didn't know each other, probably never would. Nor would they talk. At no point would their lives intertwine. They lived on different ends of the short spectrum that was District 12. They didn't matter to each other.

The day he knew her, it didn't make him love her any less or any more. It was nice to actually be familiar with the girl he had pined after for so many years, but the little facts and things really hadn't affected him much. She had grown out of her baby fat, though now it probably would've been welcome to fill in the deep shadows in her cheeks where flesh should've been, worn away by starvation. Her hair was worn down her back in a long braid, tied at the bottom with a piece of brown twine. She was a strong girl whose favorite color was green and whose birthday was in May. Her best friend had helped her buy a goat for her little sister. She didn't tell him much more, because she didn't trust him. But it was enough for him to know her, in his book at least.

He was still the naïve boy that he was ten years ago; he had held onto a childhood crush from his first year of school and transformed it into a love, a fixation with Katniss Everdeen. His mother hadn't gotten any better or any worse in her abuse to him. His favorite color was orange, that of a sunset. He iced cakes.

It wasn't fair for this to happen to her. She never planned on being married or having a family in the first place; she shouldn't have been forced into love with either of them, when she'd rather have just been left alone. One was her rock, the man who would always hold her up and protect her, who knew her, who knew how much she needed a friend instead of a lover. The other was the one that worked his way into her head with his words, his eyes reflecting a sad longing and hurt, his heart pulling her emotions away from her and analyzing them down farther than she would've liked. Both of them loved her, would do anything for her, would die for her. Peeta would leave quickly, avoiding putting her in any pain by putting up no defense. Gale would stay with her as long as he could, would make sure that she heard everything he had ever wanted to tell her, would promise to keep living after he was gone. He was a fighter, and she was something worth fighting for. There were two entirely different spectrums for her to choose from: the soft, emotional, lovey-dovey end, with the boy with the bread and his poetic words, or the protective, instinctive half that she had always known, that would keep her safe and protected, that wouldn't bend or break no matter how terrible things got. He was a fighter, and she was something worth fighting for.


End file.
